


Puck Aversion: The Birth of a Goalie Superstition

by Betweenthepies (Reikiari)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 'Swawesome Santa, 5+1 Things, Chris Chow through the years, Chris Chow's Parents, Gen, Kid!Chowder, NHL!Chowder, Siblings, goalie superstitions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reikiari/pseuds/Betweenthepies
Summary: Every hockey player has theirthing.Goalies? Even more so.So what is Chris Chow's?He will never touch a puck with his bare hands.(Five times Chris Chow won't touch a puck and one time he does.)





	Puck Aversion: The Birth of a Goalie Superstition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [genus_species](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genus_species/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! I'm so sorry this is so late, exams kicked my butt.  
>   
> Big thanks to [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/) who sat with me for more than an hour to beta this on Christmas Eve. You're the absolute best.

 

There is absolutely no doubt that Chris loves hockey. He’s played the game since he was a kid still falling over from the weight of his helmet. Half the clothes he owns are either Sharks merchandise or other NHL gear. Only one person has ever asked him what his favourite team is (Tango is such an interesting guy, he thinks) and no one has ever needed to ask what his favourite sport is.

But there is something that makes people doubt his undying love of the sport; something that even Chris knows is a little weird but doesn’t care.

He is not going to touch a puck without his gloves on.

Ever.

 

**1.**

Chris climbs into the van, jumping up into the car seat with his stuffed shark in hand. Today is the day his coach is going to let him try playing goalie for his team. He made sure to remind his parents and sister throughout the week about the exciting day; every conversation ever since his coach had announced it as they were leaving the previous practice had begun with the “news.” His sister opens the door across the van, dropping into the other seat with her figure skating bag. Chris beams and starts bouncing in his seat, not making it any easier for his mother, who is trying to buckle him in.

Chris turns to his sister, ignoring the pleas from his mother to stay still. “Cathy, I’m so excited, I-”

“Oh my God, Chris, please stop. You’ve been saying this all week. We know you’re going to get to be a goalie today,” she said. Under her breath, she mutters something that Chris can’t hear. His mom, however, hears it.

“Catherine Chow, do I have to take your DS away?” she asks sternly as she pushes the final buckle on the car seat into place. “Your brother is just excited to try something new, and that was rude and uncalled for, no matter who you’re talking to.”

“He’s being annoying, Mom.”

“Catherine, apologise to your brother while I go get the rest of the things from the garage.”

His sister mumbles a reply but Chris doesn’t really hear it. His mom shakes her head with a sigh and closes the van door before walking back to the garage.

“Hey, Chris, you know, my friend used to be a goalie.” Chris’ head has never turned to look at his sister so fast. His eyes go wide – she’s never mentioned this friend before. She turns to look him in the eyes and continues, “He was just like you, all excited, and he played as a goalie for a few years, too. But he doesn’t any more.”

Chris is confused. Why would anyone want to _quit_ being a goalie? It’s so cool, and as much as he loves being a forward or a defenseman, he thinks goaltending is a whole other class of awesome. “Cathy, why? It looks so amazing and you get to help your team and-“

“Chris, it’s because he didn’t want to make the pucks sad anymore,” she says sadly. “You know how you guys hit them around so much?”

Chris nods slowly, not really knowing what his sister is trying to say. “But they’re pucks, we’re supposed to hit them! That’s how we play hockey!”

Catherine rolls her eyes, a smirk flashing briefly on her face – one that Chris misses. “The pucks need a break, and the only time they get one is when they go in the net,” she whispers, leaning closer across the gap between the seats. “If you hold them in your hand without your hockey glove on, they’ll recognise you and hate you. They might even make it _extra hard_ for you to catch them.”

Giggling, Chris squeezes his stuffed shark. “Pucks can’t think, Cathy, you’re being silly.”

“But have you ever seen a goalie hold a puck without their gloves on?”

Chris stops giggling. Has he?

“All your hockey friends are the ones talking about superstitions and ice magic, right?” Catherine sighs and sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. “My friend could only tell me because he’s not a goalie anymore. If you tell anyone about the pucks and you’re a goalie, the pucks will know and tell all the other pucks.”

Catherine is about to continue when their mom opens the hatch of the trunk. Lifting Chris’ equipment into the back, his mom dusts off her hands before reaching up for the handle to close it. She stops, however, when she sees Chris poke his head around the car seat.

“Mommy,” he asks hesitantly, “can I have my gloves? I want to wear them into the skating centre so I don’t touch the pucks.”

His mom looks at him, laughing softly. “Want to catch those pucks, huh, honey? Definitely can’t do that without your gloves.” She pulls open the zipper and rummages through the hockey bag. As she does so, Chris’ jaw drops. Can he really not touch pucks without his gloves on? He stares at Catherine, who just shrugs and shoots him an I-told-you-so look. Chris turns back towards the front, waiting for his mom to deposit the gloves in his lap.

He wants to be a goalie.

He really wants to be a goalie.

So he will never touch a puck with his bare hands.

Chris whispers this to Cathy once his mom starts driving and put on the radio, because he can’t afford having his mom overhear. He quickly turns back around in his car seat, face set determinedly.

He is so focused on his new promise to himself that he doesn’t notice Catherine snickering at the expense of her extremely gullible brother.

-

When Catherine comes to meet him after her own skating practice is done, he can’t wait to tell her the good news. “Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat!” he says as he waves goodbye to his teammates and tries to run over to his sister while dragging his bag behind him. Once he finally makes it, he’s slightly out of breath, but that doesn’t dampen his excitement. “Coach said I did really well, and I almost blocked all the shots!”

“Good job, Kit,” she says with a smile, and she takes his hand. “Let’s go meet Dad.”

“And you know what?” he says as they push through the double doors of the arena. His voice drops to a whisper, and he pulls his sister closer. “I didn’t touch a puck! Thanks for telling me, Cathy!”

Catherine raises an eyebrow “Chris, you know I-“

A loud honk makes them both turn their attention over to the SUV parked out in front. Their dad waves from the car, and Chris drops his bag to run to him. “Daddy, I played goalie today! And I caught the pucks with my glove! I used my glove the whole time! I didn’t touch the pucks!”

“Kit! Chris, your stuff!”

 

**2.**

“Chris, do you have everything?”

Chris bounds down the stairs into his dad’s arms. “I’m ready, I’m ready!” He’s wearing his Sharks toque, Sharks jersey, Sharks socks, Sharks mittens, and has a notebook for players to sign. He’d won a lottery to spend an afternoon with the Sharks, and he is extremely excited. His dad is taking him down to San Jose for the big day, and he can’t forget anything. An hour drive is so far.

“Say bye to your mom and Catherine,” says his dad as he carries Chris into the kitchen where the other members of the family are eating breakfast.

“Bye, Mom! Love you! Bye, Cathy!”

His mom stands up from the table and walks over, placing a light kiss on his cheek, and one on the lips for his dad. “Have fun and be safe, okay?”

“Bring me back a present,” says Catherine after swallowing her last bite of toast.

His dad shakes his head and laughs as he turns towards the hallway to get to the garage, grabbing a duffel bag containing skates. If they wanted to make it in time, they would have to leave soon. Chris is strapped into the back seat, and an hour later, they pull up at the SAP Centre. Chris is more than ready to run in and start the event. His dad had told him that he would get to go on the ice, meet some players, and watch a game live. If this isn’t going to be the best day of his life, he didn’t know what else it could be.

“Dad, look! The logo! Dad, do you see it?” Chris doesn’t let go of his dad’s hand, because he knows he isn’t supposed to when they’re walking through parking lots, but he tries his best to drag his father to the entryway faster.

“I see it, buddy,” says his dad. He gets scooped up in his dad’s arms, and while he protests a bit, they both know that Chris doesn’t really mind. “We’re going in somewhere else, though, and it’s a bit of a walk.”

Chris wraps his arms around his dad’s neck and nods. He looks at the relatively empty parking lot and imagines it filling up once game time approaches. He imagines watching the stands fill up with Sharks fans. He imagines himself in a seat, watching a Sharks game live. He thinks about looking up at the lights and the rafters and the jumbotron. But what would the arena look like from the crease?

“Dad, do you think I could be here?” Chris asks quietly.

They keep moving, but Chris gets shifted so that his dad can look at him directly. “What do you mean, buddy? We’re already here.”

“No, I mean, like, play here,” mumbles Chris. His father smiles softly, and gives him a little kiss on the cheek.

“I think you’d be amazing. They’d be lucky to have you on the ice here, Chris.” Happy with the reply, Chris smiles and buries his face into his dad's shoulder.

They arrive at the stadium gate and get ushered in by a lady in heels that is speaking into a headset – a pass gets looped around each of their necks and they make their way down the stairs towards the players’ dressing room. Chris is in awe as he walks through the halls – the walls are covered in Sharks things and logos and pictures. They stop a couple times to get a few photos to show his mom and Catherine. A few workers, seeing Chris’ excitement, also offer to take some with both he and his dad in the frame. They’re not the first parent-child pair to arrive in the locker room, but they find a good seat.

His dad pokes him in the arm, and points up when he has his attention. “Guess who’s spot we’re sitting at?”

Chris looks up and his jaw drops – he would have started freaking out if the lady hadn’t come in with more children in tow and a cart of gift bags.

“Hey, everyone! I’d like to welcome you guys to the SAP Centre! Here are some things for each of you – have a great day, okay? I’ll be back soon to take you guys to the ice.”

His dad goes to pick up a bag while Chris is still bouncing up and down in the cubby, excited that this was the place he dad had chosen to sit at.

“You want to open it, Chris?” asks his dad.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Chris pulls open the drawstring bag and almost plunges his bare hand in, but stops himself jerkily when he sees what is sitting right at the top. His dad sees him freeze, and a few of the other parents also look up at the noticeable drop in energy from their part of the room.

“Dad, there’s a puck,” whispers Chris frantically.

“Yeah, bud. That’s for you,” says his dad, and the other parents turn back towards their own kids that are happily tearing into the loot bags.

“I don’t have my gloves,” Chris says as he turns to look at his dad. “I can’t touch it without my gloves, Dad. I can’t!” Tears start welling in his eyes. He really wants to look at everything else in the bag, but the puck at the top means he can’t. The tears begin to fall as the lady steps back into the room, and she rushes over quickly when she sees him crying.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Chow?” she asks his dad.

“Yes,” Chris hears his dad say, “but is there a separate bag we could get to put the puck in? Early hockey superstition and all that – something his sister told him stuck with him.”

The lady grins, and straightens up. “I’ll see what I can do.” As she walks away, his dad produces Chris’ Sharks mittens and slides them on to Chris’ hands.

“Is this okay for now?” he asks. Chris nods slowly, sniffling. He gently picks up the puck and drops it into his dad’s lap. A smile finds its way back on to his face as he goes through the rest of the bag.

-

They’re leaving the locker room and heading to the ice when another lady approaches them as they bring up the rear.

“Mr. Chow?”

Chris’ dad stops, and Chris is confused as to why.

“I have something for Chris’ puck.” She holds out a plastic puck holder, and gestures for them to take it. Chris realises what it is and reaches for it so he can put it in his bag. She smiles and passes it to him, and while he marvels at it, the adults hold a conversation over his head.

“Thank you so much,” his dad says.

“No problem – our players all have their superstitions as well, we just didn’t know they started this early sometimes.” The lady laughs, and his dad chuckles along with her.

“Chris wants to be a goalie, maybe it’s a goalie thing.” His dad fondly ruffles his hair as the lady smiles knowingly. “Come on, Chris, we have to catch up with everybody.”

Chris quickly pulls the bag closed and tries to put it on his back. His dad bends down to help him.

“Have a great day!” says the lady.

“Thank you!” he says happily, all smiles again. His dad takes his hand and they set off to catch up with the rest of the group. Now that the puck is protected, Chris has some players to see and some ice to skate on.

 

**3.**

“Boys! One last shot on Chow and you’re free to go! If you miss, pucks in the bucket! You get it in, it’s Chow’s.”

Chris drops down to block the first shot, a wrister from one of their forwards. He fights off a barrage of pucks, gliding from pipe to pipe, reaching if he needs to. It’s the first year that he’s playing as starting goalie full-time, and he’s on a new team at that. After half a season with them, though, Chris thinks he’s found his groove.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t close the five-hole fast enough to block the very last shot, and his teammate blows him a raspberry while skating by. “Better luck next time, Kits.” Chris rolls his eyes. Ever since his sister came by the rink to drive him home and called him Kit, his new team has dubbed him Kitty to differentiate between him and right winger Christopher Trigliano. It's nothing that he really minds, though being in eighth grade and being called Kitty is a little embarrassing sometimes. Catherine had done it on purpose, he is sure of it. All she calls him now is bro or dumbass; she doesn’t even really call him Chris on a regular basis.

“Nice shot, Smithy!” says Chris as he gets up and skates quickly towards the exit. “Can you grab your winning puck? I’m too far now, look how far I am and how clumsy my gear makes me.”

“Kitty, you do splits and all that graceful stuff. You are not clunky. You’re legit sprinting right now.”

“Pleeeeaaaaase?” Chris stretches out the request with a large grin from underneath his mask as he steps off the ice.

“Only ’cause you shut out the Lions last game!” calls his teammate. Pulling off his glove to make it easier to open the locker room door, Chris yells back a thank you. He walks over to the spot where he dumped all his gear before getting on the ice and drops down to start changing. His helmet gets deposited beside him on the bench, just so it won’t get mixed up with his teammates’. His sweater comes off with a little more resistance than he would like, but he eventually manages to pull it off. He bends down to remove his pads, but when he switches to his left foot, Chris feels a weight on the top of his head.  

“Got your puck for you, Kitty,” says Smithy with an audible grin in his voice.

Chris hopes his panic doesn’t show on his face.

He is touching a puck. A puck is on his head. A puck.

If he tilts back, it could fall in his goalie pants. If he tilts forward, it could hit his face. With the whole team chuckling, he slowly reached down for his gloves, keeping the puck balanced on top of his head – hopefully his hair is protecting him. He grabs his glove and, pulling it on, quickly plucks the puck from his head.

Chris glares at the offending puck in his glove and rolls it away, far from his feet. He glares half-heartedly at Smithy, who coos back.

“Aw, Kits doesn’t like pucks?”

“Scared of a little rubber?”

“Goalies, man. There’s always something.”

“Remember Johnny and his whole 'I have to be the last one to use the washroom' thing?”

“Kitty was too normal, now he’s a true goalie.”

Chris grins, even though he had a close encounter with a puck. True goalie. He likes the sound of that.

 

**4.**

By now Chris knows his sister had been messing with him about the pucks. He’s about to be a high school senior; there is no way he still believes that the pucks can talk to each other. However, the habit persists – in his honest opinion, pucks are weird and if he can avoid touching one without a glove, he will. He still hasn’t touched a puck since his tyke days, and he doesn’t plan on doing it anytime soon.

It’s early August and he’s sitting at the kitchen table, college brochures spread out in front of him. He knows he has the grades to apply to the East Coast, maybe even to an Ivy League school, and he’s probably good enough to make the teams there if he tries out. Chris knows he wants to play in the NCAA, he just doesn’t know where. He does want to stay close to his family, but the only large hockey school out west is in Arizona, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to be so far from it all. It would mean he’d be spending a lot of time travelling and his school work might suffer. His mom walks by with a cup of tea, and places a bowl of apple slices at his elbow. She takes a seat beside him. “How’s it going, honey?”

Chris runs his hands through his hair – that tells his mom everything.

“Something came for you in the mail today,” she says. “I think it’ll help.” She puts down an envelope on top of the Arizona booklet he had been browsing.

The heavy manila envelope is embossed with a crimson school crest, addressed to a Mr. Christopher Chow. He picks it up and turns it over to open it. Samwell University.

“This is our alma mater, you know,” says his mom, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “You had your first skate at Faber, the ice rink on campus.” Chris smiles – he loves hearing about his first steps on the ice, way back when his parents were graduate students. Chris unfolds the letter, and begins to read.

_Dear Christopher,_

_After evaluating you on tape, as well as learning more about you from your coaches, we believe you have great potential to be a student-athlete at Samwell University. Therefore, on behalf of the staff, I would like to offer you a full scholarship to attend Samwell University with a place on the roster of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team._

“Mom,” he says slowly. “This is an invitation letter.” She’s already smiling when he looks up from the paper, like she knew in advance. She looks at him with shining eyes.

“Mom, they’re- they’re offering me a full scholarship.” At this, she pulls him into a hug.

“Christopher, I’m so proud of you.”

“Mom, it’s so far.” Catherine is only studying at UC Berkeley, and he already feels like his sister is a million miles away.

“We loved it in Massachusetts, I’m sure you will, too.”

-

A few other offer letters find their way into the Chow mailbox over the course of the month. However, Chris has already decided. He emails the coaching staff at Samwell and they send his hockey club all the essentials. He walks into the rink on a November afternoon and sits down at the table. Chris pulls on the Samwell Hockey long-sleeve shirt and signs his National Letter of Intent in front of the Samwell banner. His parents are smiling, and a few of his teammates are there as well. The photographer that was hired to be present tells Chris to put on the Samwell cap, and asks him to hold up a puck while standing next to his coaches.

Everyone present in the vicinity laughs, and the photographer looks around, confused. Chris’ dad rummages through Chris’ hockey bag, and walks up to the table with one of his gloves. Chris takes it gratefully.

“I don’t like touching pucks,” says Chris sheepishly as he puts it on and picks up the puck, to clarify the situation for the photographer. The photographer raises an eyebrow, but takes it in stride.

Chris smiles for the camera, and is happy with the fact that he is a Samwell Men’s Hockey recruit, Class of 2018.  

All that’s left is enrollment.

He can’t wait until April.   

 

**5.**

At the beginning of the year, being in the Haus without Bitty had been weird. It had felt weird enough after Lardo, Ransom, and Holster left, and then even Bitty was gone.

Now it's nearing the end of his senior year, and as the one who has been in the Haus the longest, he has been unofficial Hausmaster for the past 8 months. Collecting the bills from the mail? Check. Cleaning schedule? He’d tried. Green Couch? Here to stay, at least until he graduates at the end of the month.  

He’ll miss it when he leaves Samwell next year. Chris isn’t sure where he’ll end up, but he knows it will be nowhere like the Haus.

Ever since he moved in, all residents of the Haus have left their rooms unlocked, unless the team is on a roadie or out for the holidays. No one has ever taken advantage of this, and all the boys know to respect each others’ space. If you need access, you ask. Chris appreciates that.

What he doesn’t count on, though, are his past and present Hausmates coming together for one last April Fool’s Day prank, of which he happens to be the target.

Arriving home after a long day of classes and a thesis meeting, he closes the door behind him. He sends a quick text to Caitlin, letting her know that they were still on for drop-in innertube water polo, and that he’d meet her there. He trudges his way up the stairs, honestly ready to just throw himself down onto his bed and nap for 10 minutes until he has to leave for the pool. He opens his door and is about to step in when he notices that where he usually sees teal, all he sees is a sea of black.

Black cylinders of rubber.

Someone has covered his room in pucks.

Monsters.

The pucks are everywhere. The floor, his chair, his desk, his bed, his windowsill; they’ve even balanced them perfectly on his stuffed shark and hung some on the wall.

He pulls out his phone and sends a snap of the crime to Caitlin. _Help me,_  he captions it. She sends back a selfie with a laughing emoji. _Rip babe. Happy April Fools Day._ Chris sends her back a selfie of the most distressed face he can muster. _What do I do????? I’m going to be late for water polo._ The snap he receives next is a shaky video, captioned _oh hell no._

He hears knocking on the Haus door as his phone pings with a text. Chris runs down the stairs, and opens the door for his girlfriend, who is slightly out of breath. Caitlin has her gym bag slung over one shoulder and is holding out a pair of heavy duty gardening gloves.

“9 minutes until polo. Let’s do this,” she says with determination. Chris pulls her in for a quick peck on the lips.

“Love you, Cait.”

“Love you, too.”

-

When they return from water polo and find the members of the guilty party lounging in the living room, Caitlin strides in with purpose.

Hell hath no fury like a Caitlin Farmer who was almost made to be late.

 

**+1**

This is going to be Chris’ first full game as a goalie for his new team and he is scared out of his mind. It isn’t like this is his first time in the show. He’d done that a year back, though with how he’d almost blown his first try, he’d been surprised that they kept him around. They did keep him for a while longer, but eventually he ended up back on the East Coast.

Now his first full game with his new team will be against his old team. Great. Chris lets out a breath and it’s annoyingly shaky. Wonderful. He wonders how his old teammates will react to playing against him. Will they have an easier time because they’d practiced with him before? Do they know how to exploit his habits? Will they--

His train of thought is cut short by a hand on his shoulder, and he glances up to see a C in front of him.

“Jack,” he manages to say.

Jack smiles and drops the contact, but sits down next to Chris. “Nervous?” he asks.

Chris gives a lopsided grin, unable to smile fully as he would in any other situation. The grin, however, disappears quickly from his face when he begins to speak. “Jack, do you think Snowy would have been better in this game? I played with the Sharks for a year and practiced with them, they know how I play, I--”

“Chowder, do you think Snowy shouldn’t play against the Schooners anymore?” asks Jack. “He did play with them before coming here.”

“No! He’s so good!” Jack gives him a pointed look, and Chris shifts his gaze to the tips of his skates where he’s tapping them together.

“You’re good, too, Chowder,” says Jack. “You have to know that Poots was scared of you at the beginning for good reason.” Chris chuckles as he remembers how Fitzgerald had flinched when he’d skated out at him from the crease during his first practise with the Falconers. Jack laughs softly with him. “Do you know how happy I was when George told me to call you to welcome you to Providence?”

Chris takes a deep breath. It is good to be back on the East Coast, back near the people who had built him his second home. “Thanks, Zimmboni,” he says cheekily.

Jack groans and rolls his eyes as he stands up. “I was hoping that of all people you’d be the one to keep calling me Jack.” He smiles, though, and Chris stands as well, grabbing his helmet and putting it on. Once he is ready, Jack gives him another pat on the shoulder.

“Let’s get in line.” They exit the room, and Chris joins Snowy at the end of the line. The other goalie taps his helmet as a sign of encouragement, and Chris nods, trying to get himself in the right mentality for the game.

-

_“Meier drives to the net on a breakaway and he ... is stopped by Chow!”_

_“That is a highlight reel glove save right as we end off the first period!”_

_“We are tied 0 to 0 here in Providence, with the Sharks leading 16 to 12 in shots on goal.”_

_“That’s all for now, folks, we'll turn you over to Anthony, who is with Alexei Mashkov.”_

-

_“We’re halfway through the second period, and Chow is a wall in the crease tonight!”_

_“Another save on a shot from the blue line!”_

_“The Falcs attempt to clear and it’s an icing call.”_

_“Zimmermann takes it, Mashkov gets it and sends it down the ice. Lapointe saves the Falcs from another icing call – puck goes to Mashkov, back to the blue line, centering pass to Zimmermann, and he scores! The Falcs take the lead!”_

_-_

_“Welcome to Coop’s Corner, where we'll take a look at how the game is going so far. How is it looking for the home team tonight, Coop?”_

_“Well, the Sharks aren’t making it easy, for sure. They lead in shots on goal, but Chow looks solid in net tonight.”_

_“We’ve heard some rumours of Chow having a bit of a scary presence in net, but this is the first time he’s playing his old team, do you think he can keep it up?”_

_“We’ll see. On the other hand, we'll need to see a push from the second and third lines. The penalty kill is looking good, but if the Falcs have the chance to go on power play, they’ll need to take advantage of it.”_

_“Alright, thanks, Coop, we’ll take it from here.”_

_-_

As the Sharks come back down the ice, he sees Jones skating to the bench. _Empty net, 6-on-5,_ thinks Chris. _I can do this._ He doesn’t know how much time is left, but he doesn’t care. All he has to do is hold on.

A Sharks player skates in front of him. “Get out of my crease, fucker,” he growls, and pushes at him as he closes down to block a shot through the five-hole. The player recoils a bit, not really expecting Chris to be as aggressive as he is. After all, they’d never been his real opponents before.

_Left blocker._

_Stick._

_Five-hole._

_Get the fuck out of my way._

He sees motion in his peripheral vision.

_Oh shit--_

Someone has taken the puck around the net. Chris is on the other side of the crease, partially stuck under another player. He has no time. He can’t-- No. Chris knows his own flexibility. He knows that his skating is strong. Gritting his teeth, he extends into the splits as far as he can and pushes across the crease. He makes it just in time to kick the puck away with his skate before it hits the line. He hears it glance off the pole with a ping. “Fuck,” says a nearby Shark. That’s the last thing Chris hears before the horn sounds loudly through the arena and the fans roar.

Chris remains down on his stomach, adrenaline still pumping. A hand is offered to him, and Jack helps him up, both of them breathing heavily. He taps his helmet against Chris’ mask, and Chris sees the smile on his face.

“Way to go, Chowder. Your first one.”

The words don’t fully register in Chris’ mind as Jack skates away and the rest of the Falcs come in a line to tap his mask. However, once he enters the locker room, a thunderous round of cheering is heard. He hasn’t come off his game mentality yet, so when microphones and cameras are shoved in his face and the first reporter moves to speak, he can’t stop himself before squinting against the lights and asking them curtly to let him through to his cubby. They all move back to give him a wide berth and he hears snickering from his teammates, some giving interviews, some not.

When they ask him how he thinks his game went, Chris says he knows he can do better and that his reaction time can get faster. They ask him what it felt like to play the way he did against his old team. Chris says he’s lucky they may have gone easy on him.

“Chowder!” shouts Tater from his own interview. “You know Sharks try many times tonight?”

That snaps him out of his game demeanour. “What?” With eyes wide, he turns to the nearest reporter. “How many did I stop?”

The reporter, one of the Falcs' beat reporters, smiles. “Forty shots against, Chris.”

“Oh my gosh, how did I do that?” The entire locker room laughs.

The interviews continue and eventually wrap up once the reporters have gotten what they need. As the reporters filter out, a few cameramen stay behind and Jack approaches him, holding something behind his back. Everyone else in the room can see what it is, and they’re all smiling.

“Got something for you,” Jack says with a grin. He brings out a puck with a Providence Falconers logo printed on it. Wrapped around it is tape, and written in thin sharpie is “#55 Chow, 1st SO.” Chris smiles so widely that his face hurts. Snowy taps him on the shoulder, offering a glove. Still smiling, Chris shakes his head and reaches for the puck with his bare hands. His fingers close around the puck, and he must be the only hockey player for which the vulcanized rubber feels weird.

It’s his first NHL Shutout.

He looks at the puck in his hand and feels overwhelmed. Chris had never thought that he’d actually make it here, but here he is, holding a puck commemorating his first NHL shutout.

He tells his five-year-old self that the pucks will forgive him, just this once, as he hears the shutters go off around him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! Let me know what you think!


End file.
